


Bonded Services

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Matchmaking, implied derek hale/braeden, of screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 23:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3955339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora signs her brother up for a match-making service. It goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonded Services

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QHolmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QHolmes/gifts).



> I saw the sign for Bonded Services, and texted the pic to [QHolmes](alexandre00q.tumblr.com)QHolmes, asking her what it might be. 
> 
> I'd like to state for the record that Bonded Services is a perfectly ordinary company and is in no way, shape, or form, responsible for matchmaking, supernatural or otherwise.
> 
> With gratitude, as always, to my friend [Fightyourdragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fightyourdragon) for beta-reading and grammar wrangling. You're the best.

Derek checks his mail every other day: usually it’s some bills, some flyers from the local take-out. Every month or two, Boyd still sends him a postcard. Today it contains an envelope he doesn't recognise. It is white, the letters in between brackets in rainbow colors: Bonded Services. He checks again, but it is addressed to D. S. Hale, which means that the sender must have gone to the trouble of finding out his middle name. He throws the flyers in the paper wastebasket the tenants keep for that reason, and takes the one envelope upstairs to the loft.

Inside, he puts the kettle on and opens the envelope.

> Dear Mr. Hale,
> 
> We are pleased to accept your request for our services. We have gone over your information, and we are happy to suggests several options for you. One of our agents will be in contact shortly.
> 
> We hope that your experience with Bonded Services will be satisfying, and as short as “humanly” possible.
> 
> Kind regards,
> 
> Jessica Fenders
> 
> CEO Bonded Services

The kettle clicks off, and Derek pours himself a mug and drops in in a filter with loose leaf honeybush vanilla to steep. He pulls out his phone to google Bonded Services. He takes a careful first sip his tea when he clicks the first link. He almost chokes on it. It’s a match-making service for supernaturals.

He texts Cora: _did you sign me up for a match-making service?_ For once, her reply is almost immediate: _You’re lonely. It’s not good for you_. He frowns at this phone, considers arguing with her about it, but then realises he’ll start sounding like Mycroft. “I’m not lonely, Sherlock Holmes.” He decides to drop it. What’s the worst that could come from it? Instead, he returns to his textbooks: the great war waits for no man.

 

He is engrossed in the Serbian Campaign, when his phone starts ringing. He picks up: “Derek Hale.”

“Good afternoon, this is Stiles from Bonded Services. Is this a good time for you?”

He looks at his cold tea and his books. “Yes, sure.”

“Very well, I’m calling because we think we have a potential match for you. She has a degree in English, she’s a witch, dark brown hair. She has been allied with a pack before. Interested?”

“Yeah, sure,” Derek says, figuring it’s the least he can do.

“Great. Her name is Jennifer. She already agreed to a date. We suggested you meet at Pate Sucré? The bakery?”

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve been meaning to go there. It always smells great.”

“In the interest of full disclosure: it’s run by a friend of ours. But he learned the trade in France, so there’s that.”

He feels a pang of loss at the mention of France. He hasn’t heard from Isaac since his last email about a cookery school. Derek had offered to pay for his classes, but hadn’t heard back from him since.

“Sure. Do I need to call her or anything?”

“If you agree, we make the arrangements,” the Stiles says. “Would Thursday evening suit you? Say, seven PM?”

“I think I can make it,” Derek says.

“Very well. That’s set then. Is it okay if I call you the next day?”

“I guess so,” Derek says. “Wait, how do I recognise her?”

“That’s the beauty of it: if you two don’t notice each other, you’ll never be a match. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the man on the phone grins. How does anyone manage to be so cheerful on the phone? Derek wonders as he hangs up. He texts Cora: _First date on Thursday. They move fast_. He returns to his book, and doesn’t even realise he’s trying to make his textbook sound like the voice of man from Bonded Services. What the hell is a Stiles anyway?

 

He enters Pate Sucré Thursday evening a few minutes before seven, and orders a coffee and a madeleine at the counter. He looks around the shop to see if the dark haired English major might be in yet. When nobody seems to fit the description, he picks a table himself. A teenage girl brings him his coffee and his madeleine, blushing furiously when he smiles at her saying thanks. He fidgets and plays with his phone while he waits for Jennifer to arrive. At seven on the dot, a woman in a black pencil skirt and a nice blouse steps into the shop. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, nodding almost imperceptibly. Her smile widens and she nods at the counter. She orders without dallying and joins Derek at his table.

“Jennifer Blake.”

“Derek,” he says, “nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“How was your day?” She smells of teenagers. Probably a teacher, he realises.

“Tough,” she says with an exhale, “try talking to a bunch of teenagers about The Crucible.”

“Did you tell them it’s a metaphor for McCarthyism?” he says, and immediately regrets it. “Sorry, of course you did.”

“Well, I did try to coordinate the reading material with the history curriculum,” she says. “I have a couple of smart cookies, one of them made a parallel to the war on terrorism, just after 9/11.”

The girl from earlier brings a cup of tea and a slice of lemon tart.

“That will be all, thanks,” Jennifer says, apparently a little territorial already.

He bristles at it a bit, and smiles at the girl apologetically.

“So, history buff?” Jennifer asks, picking up the thread of their conversation.

“I just picked up my studies again,” Derek declares. From there things run smoothly: they discuss favourite books, and most hated movie adaptations, being around teenagers when you’re not one anymore. (“It’s like a train wreck sometimes, and I keep looking through my fingers to make sure it really happens,” she admits). It’s not perfect, but it’s nice. A good two hours in, she suggests he could come home with her. He considers it, but declines.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I think we’re better as friends.”

Color drains from her face, and for a split second her pleasant features slip to reveal a terrible face. His heart starts beating in his chest. “Okay, I’ll pick up the tab.” He gets up from their table, pays at the counter and leaves.

 

Back home, he takes a long shower, scrubbing himself down. Gods, he dodged a bullet there. He turns off the tap, towels himself dry and goes to his bedroom. He puts on a clean pair of boxers as he realises his heart rate is still elevated. He turns off the light and flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He can’t sleep, his body won’t calm down. After tossing and turning for an hour, he turns his light on, and goes looking for a calming book. He drinks another glass of water and picks up Tales from Earthsea. He lets the familiar words wash over him. Somewhere in the dead of the night, his eyes close of their own accord.

 

He wakes with a start when his phone rings.

“Derek Hale,” he says gruffly, rubbing his eyes.

“This is Stiles speaking, from Bonded Services. Is this a good time for you?” The guy on the phone sounds more cheerful than a man had any right to be at… what time is it anyway? He turns off the light switch. It’s obviously morning already.

“Mr. Hale?” Oh, that’s right, Stiles is still on the phone.

“Yes. Sorry. Now is fine.”

“So did last night go really well or really badly?”

The whole thing comes back to him. “It went fine, I can see how we might seem compatible on paper.”

“But?” Stiles prompts.

“I think she’s a darach.”

Stiles sucks in his breath. “Well fuck. I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you safe now?”

“I think so.”

“I assure you, we have not given out any of your contact information.” Derek nods, not realising that he is on the phone. “We’ll track who submitted her details. Thanks for the feedback,” Stiles says formally. “We’ll be in touch shortly.”

“Okay?” Derek says uncertainly. Stiles hangs up.

 

He makes breakfast -well, brunch really, and sees a text from Cora. _How was your date, big bro?_ He texts her back: _She was a darach_. He considers adding an emoji, but none of them accurately convey the horror of finding out your date is a dark druid. Cora sends him back an emoji that looks like Munch’s The Scream. _That’s about right_ , he texts back. _I don’t think I’m doing this again soon_.

 

On Monday morning, he is reading on the Romanian campaign when his phone starts ringing again.

“Derek Hale.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hale. This is Stiles from Bonded Services. Is this a good time for you?”

“Hi Stiles. Yes, go ahead.”

“First of all, do you want to keep informed about what happens to the darach you reported?”

“No, I’m fine.” He shivers.

“Okay. Well, the good news is, we found another potential match for you. Martial arts specialist, she’s an apotropeia.”

“A what?” Derek says. He had no idea there were still supernaturals that he hadn’t heard of. He hears rattling on a keyboard.

“Apotropeia, she who turns away or protects. Basically, they guard the balance.” Derek lets out a sound of approval. “Does that mean you’ll meet her?” Stiles asks enthusiastically.

“Sure, I’ll meet her.” Derek says, unsure if he’ll ever be able to tell this guy no. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“I’m guessing Pate Sucré is out for the foreseeable future?” Stiles asks.

“Not aching to go back, no.” Derek deadpans.

“Is that sarcasm I detect?”

“How could you tell?”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Stiles says amused, “that and perfect rings of mountain ash.”

“What are you then?”

“Spark. Class three.” There’s pride in his voice that is well earned: very few sparks make it there. “But enough about me, where do you want to take this breathtaking woman?”

“I was thinking maybe Italian?” Derek suggests.

“Have you been to La Trattoria?”

“No, but I’ve ordered their pizzas.”

“Best pizza in town.” Stiles approves. “Some time this week?”

“I guess. Not Tuesday though. I have class.”

“You seem like a classy guy.” He can’t make out if Stiles is joking or not.

“No, I mean, I go to class. Tuesday nights.”

“I’ll run it by her, and I’ll get back to you.” Stiles promises and hangs up. He calls back ten minutes later. “You’re all set for Wednesday, seven thirty, reservation under Hale.”

“Thanks. I guess.” Derek says.

“I’ll check in Thursday morning.” Stiles promises.

 

He arrives at La Trattoria in a henley and dark jeans. He spots her immediately: a deceptively petite black woman, with claw scars on her throat. He can see how she’s a guardian of the balance, and why she would be sent to Beacon Hills, which is a bit of a trouble magnet. He walks over to her table. “Braeden, I assume?”

She looks him over, almost predatory. “And you’re Derek Hale.” It isn’t a question. “Take a seat."

He does. A waiter brings them the menu. They order a bottle of red, and study the menu. They order a plate of antipasti as a starter and pasta salsiccia for him, ravioli con manzo for her. They swap war stories, basically. He finds her easy to talk to: she is strong, confident, and physical. He is certain that if she were a were, she’d be an alpha. The food is good. The wine doesn’t affect him, but he finds himself loosening up a little.

“Want to come home with me?” she asks, taking the lead again.

He tilts his head, considering, and decides to put his cards on the table. “I don’t think you’re my mate. But we’re both adults. We can do as we please.”

“No false promises. I like that in a man,” she says approving. “Let’s please each other,” she says with a wide grin. He finds himself smiling back. They split the check and he follows her to her place.

 

He leaves her apartment in the small hours of the morning, knowing they’ve both been satisfied thoroughly, and without heartbreak. He drives home, sets his alarm, strips his clothes and goes to bed. He falls asleep instantly. When his alarm goes off, he goes through his morning routine. He catches himself checking his phone, because he can’t wait to tell Stiles about last night. It’s sort of sad that talking to the employee of the dating service cheers him up, but the guy feels so alive. He just wants to keep Stiles talking -it seems that it wouldn’t take much. He is texting Cora when his phone rings.

“Derek Hale.”

“Hi, this is Stiles from Bonded Services. I’d ask if this is a good time, but you picked up super fast this time.”

“Hi Stiles. I was just texting my sister.”

“So? How was last night?”

“Good.”

“Good or really really good?” Stiles asks, laced with innuendo.

“Just good.” Derek says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex was great, but I’m pretty sure that’s not why my sister signed me up for this.”

“Wait, your sister signed you up?”

“Yes. We’re a tight family. Or at least we were.”

“I saw. I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a member of your family.” Stiles sounds sincere.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words come out automatically.

“Anyway, if your sister filled out your paperwork, it’s no wonder we’re having trouble matching you up. Can I trouble you to set a proper appointment to go over your sister’s answers again?”

“Sure.”

“What time frame do you have in mind?”

“Does tonight work?”

“It does for me,” Stiles says, with a note of sadness, “since my love life is sad and lacking. Coffee somewhere?”

“Ever been to The Gingerbread House?” Derek suggests, ignoring the jolt in his stomach at hearing Stiles is single.

“Sure, that works.” Stiles says. “Seven still works for you?”

“It’s a date,” Derek says, “I mean - it’s not a date-date. An appointment. Like the dentist.” He swears he can hear Stiles trying not to laugh.

“I’ll be there. I’ll have a laptop with me. I’m not taking notes only to type them over the next day.”

“Looking forward to finally meeting you,” Derek says.

“So do I. See you tonight.” Stiles disconnects the call.

Derek looks at his phone. He deletes the message he was writing to his sister. _Last night was not a total disaster_ , he ends up writing. _Well done, D, I knew you could do it!_ comes the encouraging reply. _Anyway, they found I didn’t fill in the paperwork, so I’m having a do-over tonight_. He starts making coffee. _With your luck, your agent would be your mate, Cora texts back_. He texts her :P, because they may be adults now, sometimes nothing else works with younger siblings.

 

It’s almost seven when he drives to The Gingerbread House, and he’s inexplicably nervous. What if he gets it all wrong? What if there is nothing they can do for him? He parks the car, and heads over to the entrance. One hand on the door knob, he takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. When he opens the door, he is hit with the most enticing scent he’s smelled in a long while. He’s hit on it from time to time, but now he realises this must be a person. He surveys the room, and sees a guy sitting at a table, dressed in a white shirt, a delightful neck and soft brown hair. The man turns around, and flails a little before waving at him. That’s when Derek notices the small laptop on the table - this must be Stiles, he realises. Time slows down when he walks over, he can feel the distances between them decreasing with every step he takes, feels every molecule of air between them.

“Hey,” he says dumbly. “You’re Stiles.”

“And you’re Derek.” Stiles says. “What do you want?”

Derek stops himself from saying ‘you’, but it takes all his brain power. “Coffee, I guess?”

“Take a seat. Kira is coming over in a minute.”

 

Derek does as he is told, sits down studying Stiles’ features. Stiles rubs his cheek when he notices Derek is staring at him. Derek looks down at the table, searching the menu. A young woman approaches their table.

“Hi Stiles! Good evening sir.”

“Hi Kira, how are you?”

“How are you?”

“What’s good tonight?” Stiles asks.

“The apple cake,” she says without hesitation.

“I’ll have a slice please.”

“Hot chocolate?” she asks.

Stiles grins. “You know it. Derek, don’t hold back, whatever you’re having, it’s on us.”

“You don’t have to… I’ve got...” Derek stammers. He doesn’t want Stiles to think he’s not capable of providing for himself; his sister signing him up for a dating service is bad enough.

“Just ask for whatever, man. We messed up your paperwork. It’s the least we can do,” Stiles assures him.

“Could I have some coffee, please?”

“Anything to go with that?” Kira asks.

“I’m good.” Derek feels his stomach turn itself into knots and he’s certain he couldn’t eat. Kira nods and jots their order on her tablet. She returns to the counter, tripping over air at one point. Derek frowns as he sees that happen.

“Did she trip again?” Stiles asks.

“How did you know?”

“She is one of those people that are perpetually off-balance unless they’re wielding a full plate. Or a katana, in her case.”

“What is she?”

“Kitsune. She’s engaged to my best friend. He’s a werewolf. I guess that makes you brothers in a way.”

Derek is amused by the tangents he recognises from their phone calls.

Stiles pulls himself together. “I’m sorry, we’re not supposed to talk about me here.”

“I like hearing about you,” he says truthfully.

“Oh man, don’t encourage me.” Stiles grins. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He starts up the netbook, and opens a program. “Well then, let’s start with the basics. I assume your name, place of birth, date of birth are correct?”

“You even have my initials complete,” Derek confirms.

“Sexual preference?”

“Versatile.”

Stiles’ hands go still for a moment, and he blushes as he backspaces. Derek’s heartbeat picks up hopefully. Could Stiles be interested?

“Your sister seems to think you’re heterosexual,” Stiles says.

“She knows I’ve had girlfriends,” he says defensively, “but I’m bi. She lives in South America, it just hasn’t come up.”

“Okay. Romantically as well as sexually?” Stiles asks. Derek is confused. It must show on his face, because Stiles elaborates: “some people experience romantic and sexual attraction differently, but I suppose from your answer, you’re bi on both counts.”

“Where do you even learn these things?” Derek is genuinely baffled.

“I work for a supe matchmaking service,” Stiles says, “plus I have master’s in psychology, specialising in sexual diversity. It’s fascinating stuff.”

“So are you?” Derek asks.

“Am I what?” Stiles asks.

“Bi? Queer? What is the word these days?”

“Bi, yes, out for about seven years now,” Stiles says. “But it’s not about me, it’s about you tonight.”

Kira stops by with two mugs and a slice of cake.

“Thanks babe,” Stiles says with a grin. He sniffs his hot chocolate and looks up at her with a question on his face. She grins back at him and nods. “Awesome,” he says. Derek looks from one to the other.

“There’s a secret ingredient to their hot chocolate. Only for returning customers,” Stiles says proudly. “Well then, gender, sexuality and identity confirmed. Now, education.”

“I’m returning to my MA program in history.”

“Right, you mentioned you had class.”

“You remember!” Derek beams.

Stiles’ heart skips a beat, before returning at double speed. “Of course. I’m not supposed to have favourites, but you know, it’s kinda hard with your…” he makes a hand gesture, indicating Derek’s body, catches himself, and alters his answer: “tragic history.” Derek feels his stomach jolt again. Stiles knows about him. Stiles cares. “Anyway, I figure you deserve a happy ending.”

That settles it for Derek, caution be damned. “So close your netbook. I think I’ve made up my mind.” He picks up his coffee to hide the tremor in his hand.

Stiles looks stricken. “I’m sorry if that was out of line.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just… Your call after the date was my favourite part. Seeing you in person is so much better. Can I take you? On a date, I mean. Not… otherwise. I mean, unless...”

“Yes!” Stiles says, his grin back in full force, “yes, to both.”

Derek puts his coffee back on the table, and exhales shakily: “Good. And if that works, you can take me too.”

 


End file.
